The Kitty Case
by jankmusic
Summary: Sherlock Holmes saves and adopts a black cat after he takes a gruesome case involving murdered stray and feral cats.—Part of the One-a-Day Challenge


The Kitty Case

Prompt: Tears

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.

* * *

Working on cases involving animals was uncommon for the Consulting Detective and Blogger; after the terrors of Baskerville and a few instances of getting chased by extremely vicious dogs, Sherlock deemed cases with animals were low enough that he didn't even register them on his scale.

Until the cat slaughtering started happening in London. He noticed the absence of stray and feral cats around London three days before Lestrade called him. Hundreds of dead cats "brutally" murdered were found in an abandoned house in central London. A sign of a young serial killer in the making was animal cruelty and brutality.

Sherlock and John took the case immediately.

But not before Sherlock placed a call with Molly Hooper, suggesting she keep Toby inside until further notice.

"I think it—well obviously she—is pregnant."

Sherlock and John stood over a black cat with a protruding belly that was strapped down to a table. She was growling low and baring her teeth at them. The sound of Lestrade and the other officers dealing with the crime scene behind them wasn't helping the frightened almost mother cat.

"Here kitty, kitty," John cooed softly, reaching out his hand and allowing her to smell his fingers.

"Don't!" Sherlock hissed, almost snatching John's hand back. "She'll bite! Cat bites are notorious for—"

"I know what I'm doing, Sherlock," John said gently, not taking his eyes off the cat. For a few seconds she just smelled him, but eventually her growling stopped. Then John made a show of reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a knife. "I'm just going to cut you free, alright kitty?"

When the cat was free, both Sherlock and John expected her to run away. But she just sat upright and stared at them with wide blue eyes.

"I never deduced that you were a former cat wrangler before the army," Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off of the pregnant cat.

"I was never a cat wrangler." John rolled his eyes and slowly began slipping off his light jacket. The cat was trembling. "When Harry got out of rehab, she took in this completely feral cat and it was vicious." Sherlock suddenly remembered the scratches that littered John's hands and arms when he spent Christmas with Harry before the fall. "And you know…when you were gone, I spent a few weeks with Harry, and we worked on making the cat friendlier. And you've seen her now! She's the sweetest thing on the planet." The black cat struggled only for a moment as John quickly swaddled her and tucked her into the crook of his arms.

Sherlock quietly admitted that Harry's cat was friendlier than Toby, and Toby _loved _everyone.

* * *

It was never John's intention to bring the cat home, but after the RSPCA called and said they had no room for her and her impending litter, and their only option was to put her down unless he knew of a home she could be fostered or adopted into, John was adamant about bringing her home. And surprisingly, Sherlock didn't put up much of a fight.

The cat had only been in the home for a total of two minutes before Sherlock said something loudly and spooked the cat. She disappeared quickly, and John couldn't find her anywhere.

It wasn't until the skittish cat was found cowering beneath Sherlock's bed that John realized Sherlock was going to treat the new pregnant feline like an experiment; he knew the Consulting Detective knew better than to injure or frighten the cat further, so he left Sherlock to his own devices.

Sherlock found the cat fascinating, even though she had just hid beneath his bed. After inspection from the vet, they found that she was pregnant with a litter of two, declawed, and homeless. Not worried about the state of his furniture, he deduced that the cat was going to set up her home in his bedroom, so after John left for his shift at the surgery, he purchased a litter box and a cat food and water dish and placed them in opposite corners of his bedroom.

Then he called the best cat expert he knew and asked her to come over.

* * *

"Oh, you're just so precious!" Molly whispered, scratching the cat behind her ears. The cat was pleased and eager for the attention, purring and nuzzling against Molly. Sherlock watched from his perch on his bed as Molly lay sprawled out on her stomach beside the cat. Molly spent the better part of an hour trying to coax the scared cat from beneath Sherlock's bed. But once the feline was out in the open, she had taken a liking to Molly right away.

He knew calling Molly was the best decision, considering she introduced him to Toby's when he stayed with her after the fall. He even developed a somewhat close bond with the cat in Molly's flat.

He was hoping he could develop one with this cat. Then he could conduct nonthreatening experiments on her without upsetting anyone.

"Sherlock, come down here! If you want this cat to like you, you have to pet her and be kind." Molly returned her attention to the cat. "Especially to this little girl. She's been through quite a lot. Poor thing."

Sherlock very slowly slipped from his bed and onto the floor, ignoring the voice in the back of his head that was admonishing him for crawling around and trying to tend to a cat.

But eventually he was lying on the floor like Molly, very slowly stroking the cat's back. He stiffened when the cat stood up slowly and approached him. She gently head-butted him. "Is she angry?" he whispered, recalling that Toby never head-butted him and he couldn't recall ever seeing the gesture done to Molly.

"No, that just means she's feeling affectionate. She likes you!"

"Good," Sherlock said, before returning the head-butt to the cat. He ignored Molly's giggle and stood to his feet, still moving slowly. He didn't want to scare the cat again. "I've a bit of research to do. You can stay and play if you want."

Molly stayed with Sherlock and the pregnant cat for the rest of the afternoon, pleased when she was able to get the cat to leave the bedroom and follow her to the living room. She curled up in John's chair with the cat in her lap, purring contentedly. "Has Mama Kitty eaten today, Sherlock?" Molly asked after they sat in silence for a while.

"Her name is not Mama Kitty." Sherlock scrunched his nose at Molly, as if the name personally offended him. "And John gave her half a can of sardines this morning before he left for his shift at the surgery."

"She'll need to eat again soon, if she's eating for three!" The cat carefully adjusted itself in Molly's lap before closing her eyes and falling asleep. "Poor thing must have trouble sleeping. Her belly is so big!"

"Her name isn't Poor Thing either," Sherlock grumbled, glancing up from John's laptop.

"Well, what's her name, then?"

"Don't know. Not _that_. I'll think about it later."

* * *

One week after acquiring the cat, Sherlock decided on a name and John thought it was ridiculous.

"You can't name her that! That's a people name!"

"I can name her whatever I want; I'm the one keeping her."

"But it's such a—"

"And need I remind you that Molly has a cat named Toby?"

John huffed and then looked at the cat that was sitting on the arm of his chair, cleaning her paws. "I guess you could have named her something worse." He scratched her behind the ears and she nuzzled his hand. "Anya it is, then. What does it mean?"

"Inexhaustible."

John lifted an eyebrow at Sherlock. "She has been sleeping for nearly a week."

"She _is_ pregnant. She'll have more energy after she gives birth."

John was quiet for a few minutes, and Sherlock returned his attention to whatever he was working on the laptop. John had a feeling he was doing research on pregnant cats. "Since Anya was supposed to be my cat, can I name her kittens?"

"Sure, whatever. Leave me alone."

* * *

Molly Hooper woke up in the middle of the night with a start when her phone started ringing. She reached for it and squinted at the screen. It wasn't uncommon for Sherlock to call her in the middle of the night. "Hello?" she answered around a yawn.

"It's happening!" Sherlock whispered. Molly could hear excitement and a bit of panic in his voice.

"What's happening?" She rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"She's trying to give birth! I thought we had more time. Do you have any boxes or crates?"

Molly looked around her bedroom, knowing she would be able to find something within her flat for Anya's temporary home. "I can probably find something."

"Good. Mycroft sent a car. It should be there by no—NOT ON MY BED, ANYA!"

After a quick search around her flat, Molly found a large basket that Toby used to sleep in. Not bothering to change out of her pajamas, she slipped on slippers and made her way down to the hired car that would take her to 221B Baker Street.

She entered the flat without knocking and followed the hushed voices to Sherlock's bedroom, where she found Sherlock and John. Sherlock was nearly hopping from foot to foot with excitement and John just looked tired. Anya was laying on a towel on Sherlock's bed, panting. Molly was certain that the cat didn't realize she was the center of attention at the moment.

"I'm sorry he woke you up for this," John said when he noticed Molly in the doorway

"I've never seen an animal give birth before, this is exciting!" Sherlock took the basket from Molly and knelt down beside his bed.

"You'll want to put some padding in that," John said. "I've got an old newspaper…" He slipped out of Sherlock's bedroom and returned with two newspapers. Between Sherlock, John, and Molly, they insulated the basket with newspaper and a jumper from John that had a tear in the sleeve. John was indifferent to the jumper; he had been wanting to get rid of it for ages after the small tear in his sleeve kept growing in size.

Then very carefully, John picked Anya up from Sherlock's bed and carefully placed her in the basket. They all held their breaths, knowing that once a mother cat picked a place to have her kittens, she would want to stay in the spot.

Thankfully, Anya sniffed the basket, nuzzled John's old jumper, and then lay down to resume her panting.

The three of them set up camp on Sherlock's bed, all laying length wise and peering over the mattress at the cat in her basket. Anya didn't pay much attention to them as she busied herself with her impending labor. Around three thirty in the morning, John excused himself, saying, "I've got to sleep," and grumbled about losing sleep to watch a cat give birth.

Molly tried to stay awake as long as she could, but before four o'clock, she was fast asleep, nestled in Sherlock's side. He paid her no mind, still observing Anya in her basket. He knew her labor was progressing by the changes happening and what was being discharged from her body, but he was concerned that it was progressing slowly which could indicate problems.

Sherlock was wracking his mind on what he should do first if it became apparent that Anya needed assistance when the cat gave a sharp cry and stood up. Sherlock scrambled to his knees, jostling Molly but not waking her, and watched as Anya finally gave birth to her first kitten.

* * *

"He looks like a proud father," John whispered from Sherlock's doorway, peering at his flatmate as he knelt beside Anya's basket. "Never in my lifetime did I imagine Sherlock taking care of cats."

"It is a bit odd. But I'm sure there's a reason behind it."

"He told me he wants to conduct nonlethal experiments on them. I think observing their behavior."

"Well an ongoing experiment between cases would ensure less bullet holes in your walls," Molly commented, before handing John one of the cups she had been holding. "There's eggs and toast in the kitchen."

She squeezed into the room and carefully made her way over to Sherlock. She handed him his coffee and asked, "How is she?"

"According to my research, she's behaving like a typical mother cat. I wonder if she's had kittens before or if it is a natural instinct to behave this way?" Sherlock continued hovering over the basket as he sipped at his drink.

"I had cats growing up," Molly sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed. "And this always came naturally to them."

"Interesting."

Eventually Sherlock got up from his knees and indicated that Molly should follow him. He shut off the lamp by his bed and closed the curtains, blanketing the room in darkness. "She needs some peace and quiet," Sherlock said softly once they were outside the bedroom. He closed the door partially, knowing that Anya would stay in the bedroom for most of the day but not wanting the cat to feel trapped.

John was sitting at the table, eating his breakfast and reading the paper. Molly and Sherlock joined him, Molly nibbling on toast and Sherlock drinking more coffee.

"I've named the kittens," John said, glancing up from the paper. Sherlock gave him a look to continue. "The all black one with white front paws is Mittens and the one with all white paws and part of the legs is Boots."

"Christ John!"

Molly giggled as Sherlock glared at John while he just returned his attention to the paper with a smirk on his face. "You said I could name them. And Mary thinks the names are perfect!"

_Fin._

* * *

BB/N: This story is ridiculous! I took a liberal amount of artistic license with this prompt, which was tears. I couldn't bring myself to make anyone cry (whether they were tears of joy or sadness), so I interpreted the prompt as tears instead of tears, which is why you'll notice John had a jumper with a tear in it. Thank you for reading this, by the way! :)


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